Between Pharaoh’s Riviera and the Divine Promise: Gaza as a Metaphor for the Muslim Soul in Ramadan | Blog
Published: February 28, 2025 • Updated: February 28, 2025
Author: Dr. Ovamir Anjum
بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ
In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.
The modern world is relentless in its assault on the Muslim soul. Political tyranny, the unchecked deception of technology, and the fleeting luxuries of modern consumerism conspire to dull its edges, to rob it of its clarity, and to enslave it in ways more insidious than chains. The world’s tyrants do not merely seek to subjugate bodies; they seek to break spirits, to reshape desires, to replace the hunger for the Divine with an appetite for power, distraction, and indulgence.
It is an old battle, yet every generation faces it anew. Pharaoh (the tyrant who ruled by dividing people, enslaving some, fooling others), Haman (his engineer, whom he hired to build a structure tall enough in his mind to challenge God), and Qarun (an obscenely rich man from among the Israelites) still walk among us. The political tyrants demand our obedience, punishing those who refuse. The engineers of deception—today’s Haman—bombard us with distractions, with media designed to manipulate, with a digital fog that distances us from God and, hence, from the reality of our own condition. And Qarun lures us with the promise of decadence, of comfort, of an existence freed from sacrifice and struggle—so long as we accept the status quo and Pharaoh’s tyranny, so long as we surrender.
This is the battlefield of the modern Muslim soul. And in the chaos, Ramadan arrives like an army of light—a divine intervention to rescue us from our own heedlessness. Ramadan is the training ground of resistance, the season of clarity, bringing with it the chance to break free. When we reject food and drink, we learn that we do not live for pleasure. When we abandon distractions and stand in prayer, we reclaim our focus. When we give, rather than hoard, we undo the grip of wealth on our hearts.
As we engage in this struggle, trying to welcome Ramadan as imperfect and unprepared hosts, confronting the ruins left by years of heedlessness—the debris of lost time and the erosion of sincerity—we find ourselves reflecting on Gaza.
Recent events have intensified this reflection. US President Donald Trump proposed a plan to “take over” Gaza, forcibly displacing its inhabitants to transform it into the “Riviera of the Middle East.” This proposal has been widely condemned as a form of ethnic cleansing, illegal under international law. Navi Pillay, head of the UN Commission of Inquiry on the Occupied Palestinian Territory, stated that such forced displacement amounts to ethnic cleansing and is a war crime. This plan exemplifies the trio of modern oppressors: political tyranny seeking to erase a people, technological manipulation aiming to reshape narratives, and the lure of luxury attempting to justify moral bankruptcy.
The sanctity of Palestine is deeply rooted in Islamic tradition. The Qur’an refers to it as a blessed and holy land, and numerous hadiths emphasize its significance. However, those who view it merely as rubble see an opportunity for real estate development, aiming to transform sacred land into playgrounds for the elite, reminiscent of Pharaoh’s opulent desires.
Gaza, true, is in ruins. Gaza, too, has been bombarded by tyrants who wish to see it submit, suffocated by technology weaponized against it, and betrayed by those who should have stood by its side.
But Gaza does not surrender. Nor must I. If Gaza still clings to the promise of Allah, how can I not? If Gaza refuses to accept the finality of its destruction, how can I lose hope in my own rebuilding?
The sacred rubble of Gaza reminds me that destruction is not the end. It is only the beginning of another renewal. Ramadan is a time of not only spiritual conquest, but also of physical battles, of world-making struggle for God. Many watershed battles in Islam occurred in this blessed month: the Battle of Badr, Opening of Mecca, Battle of Ḥaṭṭin, and Battle of ʿAin Jalut, to name a few.
Pharaoh’s voice echoes through history. His claim is always the same: Power is mine. Wealth is mine. Control is mine. What can your God give you that I have not already placed at your feet?
And Pharaoh proclaimed among his people, saying, “O my people, does not the dominion of Egypt belong to me, and these rivers flowing beneath me? Do you not see?” (Qur’an 43:51)
And so, the tyrants of today speak in his tongue. They look upon Gaza, upon the land of Palestine, and they see not a place of sanctity but of opportunity—a pile of rubble waiting to be swept away, an obstacle to be cleared for luxury apartments, beachfront resorts, and casinos for the pharaonic elite. They see a people who must either bow or be buried.
But Gaza does not bow.
Every tyrant, from Pharaoh to the modern world’s imperial powers, follows the same blueprint. First, they offer the carrot—a tempting promise of comfort, acceptance, prosperity, if only one submits. If only one accepts their order, their dominion, their rewriting of truth.
“Why resist?” they whisper. “Why suffer? Look at the rivers that flow beneath us, at the power we hold in our hands. Trade your dignity for security, your faith for favor, and you can join us.”
And when that fails, the stick follows. Starvation. Siege. Bombardment. The grinding cruelty of occupation. The threat of annihilation, sharpened and wielded against a people whose only crime is refusing to disappear. This is the tactic used to ethnically cleanse Gaza—first the bribe, then the bullet.
Yet, Gaza stands. Gaza rejects the carrot, just as it defies the stick. Gaza refuses to be bought, refuses to be broken. In a world that believes submission is survival, Gaza has chosen dignity over life itself.
And just as Gaza resists the external tyrants, the believer is called to resist the inner pharaoh, the one who whispers of power, of self-indulgence, of pleasure without consequence. The true jihad—the struggle against the self—is fought every day, against the same forces that try to conquer nations.
The tyrants of the world today do not seek only to dominate our lands; they seek to conquer the Muslim soul itself—to subdue it with fear, to distract it with entertainment, to corrupt it with the love of wealth and power. And the two are inextricably connected. Sometimes, the conquest of the land and its sacred places is followed by the conquest of the soul; at other times, the soul is crushed first, and the land follows. Those who fail to recognize this have already lost.
The three great temptations
And We did certainly send Moses with Our signs and a clear authority. To Pharaoh, Haman, and Qarun, but they said: “A magician, a liar!”
(Qur’an 40:23-24)
The oppression of the weak does not happen in isolation. Pharaoh—the emblem of brute force—never works alone. He requires enablers, systems of oppression, and collaborators from within. In the Qur’an, Moses’ greatest opponents were not just Pharaoh, the tyrant-king, but also Haman—the architect of power—and Qarun—the billionaire who betrayed his people.
Each represents a force that seeks to enslave the Muslim soul:
Pharaoh: The tyrant and the fear of power
Pharaoh rules through fear. He is the dictator, the oppressor, the ruler who demands submission, not only of the body but of the mind. He dictates reality itself, rewriting history, criminalizing truth, making falsehood the law of the land.
The believer’s greatest test in the face of Pharaoh is courage. To refuse to be silenced. To say “no” when everyone else bows. To speak the truth, even if it costs everything. This, in the words of the Blessed Prophet ﷺ, is the noblest jihad.
Haman: The engineer of deception and the distraction of technology
Pharaoh commanded, but Haman built. He was the mastermind, the one who used his craft to solidify Pharaoh’s rule. He was ordered to construct the great tower, a structure meant not only to showcase power but to reach the heavens—to play god.
And Pharaoh said, “O Haman, construct for me a tower that I might reach the ways, the ways into the heavens, and look at the God of Moses, but indeed, I think he is a liar.” (Qur’an 40:36-37)
Haman represents more than just an ancient minister—he is the symbol of how technology, knowledge, and engineering can be weaponized by tyrants.
Today, Haman does not build towers of stone; he builds digital towers, algorithmic prisons, echo chambers of deception. He fills the world with distractions, keeps the mind occupied with endless entertainment, shapes perception through media, enslaves the heart to screens so that it no longer longs for the remembrance of Allah.
The believer’s test in the face of Haman is focus. To reclaim the heart, to break free from the distractions, to use technology as a tool, not a master.
Qarun: The billionaire traitor and the temptation of wealth
Indeed, Qarun was from the people of Moses, but he oppressed them. And We had given him treasures whose keys would burden a band of strong men. (Qur’an 28:76)
Qarun was not an outsider; he was one of Moses’ own people. Yet, when given the choice between his faith and his fortune, he chose his fortune.
Qarun is the one who sees his wealth as a sign of his superiority, who believes that material success is a blessing for him alone, rather than a responsibility.
In every age, the ummah has suffered not only from external enemies but from those within—the Qaruns who sell their faith for wealth, who align with the oppressors, who see the suffering of their people as the price of doing business.
The believer’s test in the face of Qarun is zuhd (detachment). To see wealth not as an end but as a means. To reject luxury that corrupts the soul. To give rather than hoard.
Ramadan: A time of resistance and renewal
In this struggle, Ramadan offers a path to renewal. It is an opportunity to detach from the trifecta of tyranny, to cleanse the soul, and to reaffirm our commitment to justice and faith. Just as Gaza resists external oppression, we are called to resist the internal forces that seek to corrupt our souls.
The sacred rubble of Gaza serves as a powerful metaphor. Despite relentless attempts to erase its identity and spirit, Gaza stands firm, embodying resilience and unwavering faith. This resilience inspires us to confront the debris within our own souls, to rebuild, and to resist the temptations and oppressions of the modern world.
In embracing the lessons of Gaza and the spirit of Ramadan, we find the strength to overcome the trio of tyranny, to purify our souls, and to transform both our inner and outer worlds in pursuit of divine gardens promised to the steadfast.
Ramadan is not just a month of fasting; it is a training ground for jihād al-nafs (the struggle against the self).
- When we deny ourselves food and drink, we break the hold of Qarun’s temptation. We remind ourselves that we do not live to consume.
- When we reduce our distractions, turn away from excess entertainment, and focus on the Qur’an, we resist Haman’s digital empire.
- When we stand in prayer, reciting the words of Allah, bowing to none but Him, we defy Pharaoh himself.
Gaza does not choose its struggle—it has no choice. But we do. Every Ramadan is a chance to align ourselves with those who resist, to cleanse our souls from the tyranny of Pharaoh, Haman, and Qarun, to renew our faith so that when the test comes, we do not falter.
Gaza is proof against every excuse we make for our own submission. Proof that even in the face of total siege, one can still say “No.” Proof that dignity is not conditional on comfort. Proof that the pharaohs of today can still be defied.
How many a small company has overcome a large company by permission of Allah. And Allah is with the patient. (Qur’an 2:249)
To look at the people of Gaza is to see the Muslim soul in its purest form—tested, tormented, but unyielding.
The question is: Will we resist as they have resisted? Or will we take the carrot and call it wisdom?
